Carpe Diem
by Spikesgirl58
Summary: Sequel to Love Sought and When the Ink Dries - the explanation of just how Illya did get that tattoo... there. Warnings - N/I, tattooing, alcohol consumption and sex.


Napoleon fumbled one-handed with the lock to their motel room door and then nudged it open with his toe, all without dropping the various items balanced precariously in his other arm and against his chest.

"How did you manage to collect so much stuff in such a short amount of time?" Illya asked, his own arms laden with flowers and other items. "Are you sure you're not sleeping around?" The soft teasing edge took the sting out of the words.

"Like you give me a chance." Napoleon set the bouquets of flowers down on the small press-board table and relieved Illya of his burden. "Even if I had the time, I lack the energy. Keeping up with you is a bit of a challenge, my friend." He leaned in for a kiss and Illya's hand snaked up to hold his head still as their mouths explored each other's. For a long moment, they stood as if frozen in time, then a car door slammed and Napoleon looked back at their still open door. "You'd better shut that unless you want an audience."

He turned back to the table and set the items down. He'd not heard of the whole 'secret star' tradition, but had to admit it had been fun. They had drawn names and then set out to concentrate their efforts upon one actor or tech, keeping him or her inspired, confident, and curious for the run of the show.

Every performance, something new was added to his make-up station. Sometimes, it was a small, inexpensive gift, other times, a flower with an encouraging note or a candy bar. It hadn't come to any surprise to him that nearly all of Illya's gifts had come in the form of food and usually were gone before intermission. Some of the cast and crew were diligent in their quest to discover the identities of their benefactors, but found it to be fruitless when coming up against Napoleon and Illya. They'd been in enforcement for way too long to tip their hands. At the end of the show, at the cast party, everyone revealed their star and received an appropriate gift. Napoleon was quite looking forward to seeing Heather's face. He'd been leading her on a merry chase for a month now.

Illya secured the deadbolt and peeled his tee shirt off, sighing. Napoleon smiled and ran the tips of his fingers across the blond's chest, stopping to stroke pebble-hard nipples. Illya smiled at the touch and the fingers moved on to ruffle the sweat damp curls of chest hair, then suddenly back to catch each nipple and pinch hard.

Illya sucked in a breath and smiled, open and completely unguarded. "In one of those moods, are you? All right, give me a minute and we'll… play."

Napoleon returned the grin and released his hold. "It looks like you could use a touch up." He traced the henna tattoo on Illya's left pectoral, the eye of the yang symbol his left nipple. He ran just the tip of his tongue over the nipple and heard Illya groan in response. He loved seeing the Russian so receptive. "Why don't you let me take care of that for you?"

Illya's breath caught as Napoleon raised his mouth to lick his neck, lingering over his pulse point, sucking and nibbling it. Napoleon's hand slid down the soft skin of Illya's belly to his belt and unbuckled it. Letting it dangle, he undid the top button of the jeans and slipped one hand inside, providing a protective barrier between zipper and his lover's genitals. Illya moaned as Napoleon's fingers cupped him.

"You need to stop now or it'll be over before we get started."

"So close already?"

"With you so near, it's a constant state, Napoleon." Illya took a step away from his partner and wiggled the restrictive jeans down to his knees. He toed off his sneakers and socks to step free of the garment.

Napoleon watched him appreciatively of the view and then walked into the bathroom to retrieve a small bottle and paint brush from his shaving kit as well as a half-used tube of lube.

Illya stretched out on the bed, lazing against the pillows. Napoleon's gaze lingered on the golden skin. He loved to see Illya so relaxed and calm. In their lives it didn't happen very often and he relished the opportunity to see his partner as few others did. He sat down and carefully opened the jar.

"Think I'll do my favorite one first."

Illya's head came up for a moment and he chuckled. "Yes, I thought as much."

Napoleon tipped the brush into the henna mixture and pressed the excess out against the glass. Carefully, he bent to his work, pausing to kiss the flesh before he started to paint. "I'm going to miss this one especially," he said as Illya moaned at the contact. "Were you this sensitive when the tattoo artist was doing this initially?"

"Kelly? Not likely. She's hardly my type." He sucked in his breath, doing his best to keep from moving as Napoleon leaned down to blow gently on the ink to dry it. "You're making me insane, Napoleon."

"I have a small confession to make, my love," Napoleon said as he traced the letters carefully. "This one was a special request."

"I know."

"You did? When?" Napoleon didn't try to hide the surprise in his voice.

"When we first arrived, you made a crack about where I had 'seize the day' tattooed, but up to that point, you hadn't seen me naked, so how would you know since Section Eight had left the placement of the tattoos up to Kelly's discretion?" Illya dropped his head back to the pillow with a sigh.

"And you're not angry?"

"Waste of energy, although it should have been a heads up for me. I guess, like now, I had other things on my… mind."

*****

Napoleon glanced out the airplane window and into the dark as the plane taxied to a stop. It had been a long and grueling affair. Not so much dangerous as it had been mind bending with its twists and turns. It had been a long time since he'd worked with someone other than his partner and that was another frustration. He knew how Illya handled himself in a fight or in a tight situation and he'd come to rely upon the Russian's numerous abilities. Mark was a competent agent, but he wasn't Illya.

Napoleon could barely wait to get back home and feel that familiar body in his arms. Still, he wasn't about to take a chance and be careless now. He waited for the rest of the passengers to disembark and when he was certain there was no danger, he walked into the terminal. Caution stopped him just inside the door and he scanned the area again to assure himself all was secure and then smiled at the sight of a familiar shape, his back to the gate, nose buried in a newspaper.

Quickly, Napoleon walked over to him and touched a shoulder, knowing Illya had sensed the minute he'd arrived. They had that connection with each other. Illya glanced up and smiled that open smile that no one besides Napoleon saw.

"Welcome home."

"Thanks, how's Uncle Alex?"

"About the same. You ready to head home?" Illya stood, tucking the newspaper beneath an arm and led the way out of the airport. Napoleon followed him, content to watch the fluid move of his partner's body as they walked through the crowd and to his car. Just the thought of crawling into bed beside Illya was becoming more and more a delicious reality.

The car stood in partial shadow and Napoleon glanced into the back seat as a matter of habit. Illya unlocked the door and Napoleon gratefully sank down to the upholstery. Simply being in an American car was a luxury. Illya climbed in and leaned across the bench seat for a brief kiss. They didn't dare any more in public, but Napoleon let his hand drift over to caress and squeeze a muscular thigh, mentally counting the seconds before he was lying between them, drinking in the scent and feel of his lover.

By the time they arrived at his apartment, Napoleon was nearly out of his mind, so much so that he only let Illya take two steps inside before pinning him to the wall and kissing him thoroughly. Even better, Illya permitted him to, obviously as anxious for Napoleon's touch as he was for Illya's. Hands tore at clothing, each stripping the other efficiently and quickly, bodies eager for the feeling of flesh against flesh. No words, nothing but the groans their touches wrung from each other.

Napoleon's need was almost feral and he bit, clawed, and did everything short of crawling inside his lover's skin in his eagerness. They made it no farther than the foyer floor before achieving their first teeth-clenching climax.

"I think we need to do this again," he said, brushing sweat-slicked hair off Illya's forehead.

"Preferably not here. I'm going to have bruises on my knees for a week."

"Bed it is, then. " Napoleon stood and offered him a hand up. He glanced over at a pair of suitcases that were set aside. "Are you going somewhere?"

"Coming home, as it were."

"Why, Mr. Kuryakin, am I understanding you correctly? Are you moving in with me?"

"UNCLE needed the apartment and I spend more time here than I do there these days. It just seemed easier. Do you mind?"

"You have to ask?" Napoleon reached out to take a broad-fingered hand and kiss it before setting it on his chest over his heart. "Whatever I have is yours."

Illya smiled and walked into the bedroom. There was something tweaking at his thoughts and Napoleon's eyes narrowed. There was something different about the blond, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. Illya collapsed onto the bed and that was then it hit him.

"What is this?" Napoleon reached out to trace the delicately scrolled words C_arpe Diem_.

"What does it look like?"

"A tattoo."

The rest of Illya's temporary tattoos had faded away or been removed weeks ago. Illya's answer was a smile - wicked, sly, and extremely thought provoking. "When did you do this and how did you bear it?"

"A couple of weeks ago. Consider it a homecoming gift." Illya arched into his touch. "The pain was inconsequential to the outcome."

"You permanently marked yourself for me?"

"It seemed… appropriate somehow."

"Does Waverly know?" He grinned at Illya's disapproving look. "Forget I asked that, although you have to admit it would be an interesting conversation opener."

"I suspect the next time I'm through Medical he'll be informed."

"He won't like it much."

"I don't really care much. It's my body. Now, could we stop talking about work and concentrate on something a bit more pleasant? Like me, for instance, and you, together…"

"Seizing the... day?"

"Among other things…"


End file.
